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Contact Mizeta at mizetasworld@live.com, or Howard at fhschneider@comcast.net

The Beautiful People


I have never endorsed or engaged in war. I have participated in violence a few times, but with one exception, it was in self-defense when attacked. I harmed someone when I was young and have always regretted doing so. I wish I could see that person again and beg their forgiveness. Violence begets retaliation and becomes an endless cycle of revenge. Since that one incident, I have sought the company of non-violent souls who seek enlightenment and self-betterment instead of enslavement and control over others. Now that our country has shifted towards fascism, there is so much hate in the streets the beautiful people fear for their lives. Just like in Nazi Germany, anyone opposed to the dogma of an insane leader and his minions teeters on the edge of extinction or censorship.

The result of this political shift is that those whose hearts are willing to accept diversity are reaching out to each other with greater professions of love. While prejudiced people become more vocal in their expression of hatred, so too do those who are willing to share the world. The fact I wear dresses and makeup is irrelevant to those whose minds and hearts are free of xenophobia, homophobia, and racial supremacy. The beautiful people are hugging each other more fiercely and with heart-felt sincerity while under attack by bigotry, separatism and disregard. The beautiful people understand that the only path to humanity’s survival is through acceptance of diversity and unilateral cooperation. As long as we continue to maim, slaughter, and ignore each other, the world will remain a bed of hostility.

When we were naked savages we struggled mightily for existence. Everything in the natural world either succored or threatened us. In today’s world we possess the knowledge and technology to transcend such limitation, but many remain entrenched in ignorance. Thinking that anything different than one’s self or belief system needs to be ostracized or murdered is a limitation we must shed if humanity is to survive. Should we continue to escalate our warlike behavior, there will be nothing left to possess for the last man standing. A smoldering pile of radioactive rubble won’t be a satisfying treasure to those possessing it.

Every day I see hatred in some people’s eyes. I can feel their desire to harm me, but most of them are cowards who will not act on their urges. Eventually, some out of control bully may murder me because I am different, but I can’t live my life in fear of such stupidity. I can only focus on the beautiful people around me who buy me drinks, shake my hand when we meet, or hug me, and return their respect tenfold. I can only relish each moment of life and savor each breath. By doing so I do not allow the tendrils of growing antagonism to take root in my soul. I greet each day with happiness, the expectation of making new friends, and deeper bonding with old ones. I look forward to traveling the trails of a magnificent planet that could care less about our appearance, ethos or credo. Unless we destroy the atmosphere, there is plenty of air for each of us to breathe.

Take a deep breath and look around. Calm your soul and shake off your fear of the unknown. The beautiful people are everywhere if you choose to remove your blinders. None of us want anyone to kill our family, so why are we killing someone else’s? Rubble that used to be someone’s home is a testament to our military superiority, but a world of well-kept dwellings would be a testament to our compassion. Bleeding children whose limbs are broken could be our own. Raped women could be our sisters and mothers. Can we truly justify such behavior in our quest for the American dream? And what is that exactly? A legacy of atrocities committed in the name of God?  One nation dedicated to profit for a chosen few? I choose to embrace kindness. If that makes me weak and unworthy, so be it. Mizeta 

Shaved Legs and All: Turmoil

Sometimes it’s hard to sleep while wondering what’s going to happen to the LGBTQ community. Preachers stand in their pulpits calling for our execution. Politicians vote to take away our rights. We are labeled an abomination, but to whom? The neighbor down the street who beats his wife and children? The cop who shoots people because they’re not white? The priest who rapes young boys after taking a vow of celibacy? The thief who violates privacy and property to satisfy their greed? The shopkeeper who refuses to do business with certain types? We are not monsters. We are flesh and blood seeking the same freedom of expression as anyone else. Is the love in our hearts invalid by not being shared with someone considered socially acceptable?

Who is dictating what is normal and what is aberrant? It can’t be God. According to religious tenets we are all God’s children and worthy of love. Jesus perhaps? Oh, yeah! According to him, all of us are God’s creations. And where is he anyway? People sing songs about forgiveness and acceptance on Sunday, then go out and spread hatred through a tumultuous world the rest of the week. They reject kindness and act with aggression towards anyone unlike themselves. Are we doomed to mass destruction due to our unwillingness to accept diversity?

In the last few years I have made a lot of new friends in my community. Many women give me hugs and kisses, and many men shake my hand. The importance of these acts is not lost on me. I relish every bit of kindness given and return it sevenfold. Conversely, the current political climate encourages hate speak and separatism. People who were quiet haters for years now feel free to glare at me and make rude comments. I’m glad that I live in an area known for its tolerance, even though the influx of people from other states is starting to move us in a more hostile direction. My concern is that they will overwhelm our accepting population and turn us into an intolerant environ similar to those that practice exclusion, prejudice and violence. Oregon has been subject to such behavior before and has slowly transcended it. I am loath to accept a return to such ignorance.

Meanwhile, I shop for shoes, buy new dresses, and accept gifts of lipstick and perfume from those who love me. I stand in line at the grocery store without apology. I drink at my local bar, knowing that the money I earn for my labor is as good as anyone else’s. Despite all attempts at eradication I refuse to go away or be ignored. I proudly claim my place in the world and accept no belittlement. It is my hope that despite whatever challenges they face, every member of the LGBTQ nation will hold fast against the tide of insensitivity and refuse eradication. That they will continue to love and flourish. That they will speak their mind at the ballot box and elect leaders who understand that we are all worthy of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Till next time, stay strong, smile, and be kind.

Love, Mizeta Moon     

Shaved Legs and All: Lack of Shelter


It was a cold night. The streets were rivers and sidewalks nearly awash. I realized my only chance of staying dry was the homeless shelter. I grabbed my meager belongings and scurried before rising waters. When I got there the line was long. It was like that these days. A segment of us couldn’t qualify for a job or any type of relief. Thousands were living in cars or under tarps in the richest country in the world. But, this story is not a whiny, poor me, lamentation. It’s about what happened to me when I reached the head of the line

“ID,” the gruff man at the reception desk said. I fished in my pocket and came up with my driver’s license and a Trimet card with my picture on it. As he perused them I began to worry. Was I about to become a victim of legalized discrimination? The current administration seemed to have an agenda to rid the country of everyone not conforming to a lily-white fundamentalist ethos.

“Can’t take trannies anymore. Guess you’ll have to sleep in the rain. Sorry, we used to care for everyone, but it’s all about funding these days. Nothing personal.”

I pleaded for admission but it was to no avail. When I stepped outside, the wind intensified. I got blown against a wall and scraped my elbow. I wanted to know why I was being punished for identifying as a girl. Why couldn’t I get a bowl of stew and a place on the floor? Was I harming someone by wearing a dress? Two blocks down the street I spied a doorway that looked dry. Before I could get there someone rolled into it. Could we share? Fortunately, the other buggy pusher was not prejudiced and agreed to coexist.

Lying there listening to raindrops pummel the sidewalk, I thought about the plaque on the statue of liberty. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the tempest-tossed to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door. How could one administration change everything America stood for in three years? Why did fifty years of effort to produce equality go out the window in such a short time? Why were transsexuals being targeted for extinction? No health care, no rights, not even a place to shelter from the night. Who were the puppet masters legislating outright hatred and discrimination? I realized my questions would go unanswered and that asking them could brand me as a dissident, and open the door to prosecution or further discrimination. Sadly, I realized that the bigots had always been there. Like the hounds of hell, they had been unleashed by those only serving the gods of profit and that our country was being sold to the highest bidder.

I could have risen the next morning and taken off my dress. I could conform and be given meager sustenance. It became important to me not to give in. I understood that sleeping in the rain and cold or suffering the greatest indignities could not alter who I am. I realized that regardless of circumstance I would die defending my right to exist. No political hack could use their laws to define me. Though we live in America’s darkest hour I would continue to network with those who understand and hope for the return of sanity. 

Every day I meet someone willing to shake my hand in solidarity. As long as that keeps happening all is not lost. We stand on the brink of destruction, and though we teeter, there is always a glimmer of hope. I embrace that hope and beg you to do the same.


Not the Usual Candidate


I find it refreshing that an openly gay man is running for president. Due to gerrymandering and the Electoral College, I don’t expect him to win, but I hope he galvanizes the LGBT community and sends them flocking to the polls. Activists in every state are lobbying for a plethora of LGBT related issues, but without a strong leader and a centralized platform, most of their efforts are doomed to failure now that the Supreme Court is stacked against them. By focusing their energies on this election and a young man who has their best interests at heart, it could open the door for the next cycle. He is young enough to run again and again while the LGBT community grows in numbers and thousands of bigots age and die off.

Maybe hatred and prejudice will always rule America and I'm just a starry-eyed idealist who believes that humanity has the capacity to evolve beyond such behavior. If so, then we seem doomed to constant war and bloodshed along with the inability to share a world we do not own. We inhabit a planet but have no say in its nature. With constant infighting and cultural isolation, we leave ourselves vulnerable to its eruptive behavior that leaves our efforts null and void. Someone with heart and a vision leading to togetherness could possibly guide us to a gentler state of mind where we work together to solve the maladies of existence.

I would love to see every person who feels disenfranchised or questions their sexual identity register and vote against the tyranny of the current administration. I would love to see anyone who believes in the sovereignty of each member of society break the chains of restriction and stand up for their rights instead of being apathetic and accepting the status quo. Only by standing together will we ever be more than slaves to an economic engine fueled by greed and aggrandizement. I am but one, but I will vote for a man who can love and marry a same sex partner then enter the public arena without apology or shame. I applaud such courage. I admire the quiet strength of such a man. It will not be just a man I’m voting for, but the right to exist without threat or harm. Every day of my life is a struggle for acceptance and a battle against derision, but by standing tall and refusing to surrender, I make my presence known. I can only hope that others will embrace their inner light and shine it onto the world.

 As always, peace and love to you my friends. I may never meet you or know your name, but I will lobby forever for your right to be who you are. Mizeta 

Which Way Do You Swing?


I’ve addressed this issue countless times over the years. In early posts on my blog I exposed my feelings, but try as I might, I cannot avoid the question. Are you gay? If I was, I would feel no shame, nor offer apologies for my sexual preference. That would be who I am. As it stands, I’m still totally nuts about women, even though I haven’t had a girlfriend for years. It’s a tactile thing. Difficult to explain without generalizing.

When I worked for Central City Concern, I was required to attend a class delineating the difference between sexual identity and sexual preference. The body is born with specific biological functions, but the entity dwelling within is not only shaped by innumerable forces, it has its own identity from birth. How one identifies as a human has nothing to with body chemistry. On the other hand, sex has everything to do with the body. What smells good? What feels good? What, or who turns you on?

On the inside I’ve always been girly. Stockings, shoes, perfumes and pretty dresses are the focus of my attention. I love to cook, entertain, and keep house, (not meaning to assign roles to a gender and only speaking for myself) but I don’t need a man to sleep with. The difference between sexual identity and sexual preference rears its head again and leaves me trying to explain the difference.

I prefer the company of a woman because of sensitivity and awareness. Not to say they are all perfect little angels, but to say their concern for others is beauty I can’t ignore. Their kisses can be rough, but are most often sweet, and given with absolute sincerity. They hug deep and I relish their touch. I love the way they are when waking in the morning. We put on our faces together and foray into the fray. At night we hold against cold uncertainty and shelter each other’s soul. We are there. Present. Not listening half-heartedly while thinking of someone else or other things. The universe is ours to explore.

But! Getting back to the dissertation. I wish people could understand that it is true they are unique, and powerful as well, but so is the person standing next to them. We are all made of the same material, but shaped in different ways. How we dress or who we sleep with is a personal decision. I guess the old adage is really true. When you assume, you make an ass out of u and me. Having preconceived ideas about anyone can lead to a lot of problems.

Like many people, I would love an immediate transformation. Where streets are safe, thugs no longer rule, and I can walk any sidewalk in this country wearing whatever dress fits the weather. I know we have a long road ahead, but for every person who declares their right to exist, the human factor strengthens. We are not immune from extinction. Beings stronger and fiercer have been consigned to oblivion. Our replacements could rule for moments or eons, but we’d never know. Sadly, we blew our chance to live as one. To destroy labels and accept the fact we’re all in a battle with a hostile planet that shows no mercy or remorse.

I want to live my days in peace and not have people judge me because of sexual identity. I want people to connect with my heart instead of my DNA. I was born. I had no choice. I was assigned a form. But I–that inner voice, became stronger and louder as time marched on. I expressed my girl, but never developed a desire for sex with men. Each being is faced with similar questions. Who am I? What do I like? And what do I want from life? Sometimes the answers are foreign to ourselves. Is that really me? Do I really feel that way? When social programming gets erased, personal truth emerges.

Love to you as always. I wish we could all be friends. But if that’s impossible, could we share the world despite different points of view? It’s sad that everything dies and we are left with memories, but we become memories ourselves. Please leave a good one, I beseech you. Mizeta      

Still Weird


The influx of people from other parts of the country, along with the current administration’s entitlement of haters, has changed my mind about Portland being a bastion of weirdness and tolerance. Where alternative lifestyles were once lauded and accepted, I’m hearing disturbing stories about transgender and queer folk being victims of violent attacks. Police are seemingly unconcerned about investigating or curtailing such behavior.

Refusing to allow transgendered people to serve in the military has also fueled the backlash against rights people have bled and toiled for. Why a person who feels patriotism towards this country cannot serve the flag mystifies me. Even though I feel their desires are misguided, their intentions are worthy of respect. Exclusion, persecution and denial of equality are hallmarks of despotism.

Recently, I attended a Kiss concert at the Moda Center. One would think rockers would be accepting of people such as myself, but every time I went to the bathroom I faced confrontation and derision. I use the men’s room because I’m still a functional heterosexual and respect women’s right to privacy in an intimate environment. Besides that, there are more and more women following a right-wing religion-based agenda against people not adhering to so-called normal behavior. Without non-gender-specific facilities, buildings such as the Moda Center are not doing anything to change the tiresome exclusion of the LGBT community. All the security guards in the world cannot stop a hater from punching out a guy in a dress who is peeing in the urinal.

Snarky comments, rude stares and the like haven’t bothered me for years. My personal confidence and refusal to be denied the right to exist allow me to rise above all attempts at intimidation. However, I am aware of how many people who remained silent for years now feel empowered to spew both homophobic and racist rhetoric without consequence.

So . . . my question is, are we really a progressive, accepting city where everyone has the right to exist, or are we following a national trend of xenophobia and exclusion? Will Portland shed a title that has always been a point of pride and become an enclave of rich white people? Does the LGBT community have the strength in numbers to withstand an onslaught against its very existence? I truly hope there are enough weird people living and moving here to outrun the tide of newbies bringing their outdated mores to one of the most beautiful places on earth. Instead of seeking new horizons, they seem to be bringing the diseases they fled with them. Entrenched in dogma, they don’t embrace the chance to reinvent oneself and become part of the Oregon spirit and way of life.

It is true that Oregon has had a checkered past and once practiced exclusionism, racism, and a host of other toxic philosophies, but in the last few decades acceptance and tolerance have moved to the forefront. It is my hope that such qualities will not fall by the wayside while the meanest administration in American history rules the land without mercy or consideration for the common man. I will always stand against tyranny. I will always accept everyone’s right to live, even if I don’t agree with their views or practices. All I seek is the same consideration. We all need to pee. Hopefully, one day, there will be facilities that allow others like me to attend public events without concern for their safety. Until then, all I can hope for is a return to what Portland supposedly represents if it ever truly existed in the first place. Mizeta.

Counter Culture


It would be easy to give up on humanity right now. Hate groups marching in the streets. Abundant anger around every corner. Daily news saturated with murder, abductions, robberies and mayhem. It would be easy to dismiss the power of love as well, but it will not go away.

Charity is shown every day. Hugs are given, hands are shook, and smiles are exchanged. Those who share are shared with. When faced with horror, steadfast souls cling to the tiniest shreds of hope. They withstand floods of bitterness and resist tyranny. They look in the eyes of those around them and see the same joy of existence they feel.

There is always a counter culture. The dualities of life demand its presence. Regardless which side is up, the down side remains active. For me personally, I’d rather see more love than hate. Greater acceptance between different cultures, skin types and belief structures. I’d prefer to be a friend than an enemy, but sometimes that is not possible when persons seek to harm, defame or dismiss you. That is when we face the greatest test.

Can we learn to live around those with whom we disagree? Accept the fact that air is free for our detractors to breathe as well as ourselves, and that we are all one organism whether we like it or not? Can we learn to forgive, even though we may never forget while staying wary in case another attack ensues? Can we find ways to avoid persecution? I don’t like living in fear, so I don’t because it’s corrosive and detrimental to my health, but I’ve learned to be cautious. There are so many people in the world who want to harm others I cannot ignore this fact.

All I can do to change the world is give and give and give from my heart and tread lightly on the planet while being the best person I can. I displease some, but constantly embrace others with the hope of sharing equality and love. To minimize negativity and enhance tranquility will always be my goal. I’ve never killed anyone, but I’ve erred and felt shame. I’ve stumbled often, but have never lost sight of the possibility our world could become a less frightful place. I implore anyone who is listening to stop and see the wonders of our world. To cherish its beauty and marvel at its very existence. To not hate the person standing next to you for being a part of it all. And more than anything, to unlock your heart and let it frolic on the wind. Soaring unfettered by bigotry, prejudice, and judgement can lead to revelations of wonder and experiences beyond imagination. Love, Mizeta 



We are not isolated. We are part of something greater than ourselves. Trillions of actions are happening every moment. Holes are dug, treasures are sought, mouths are kissed, and tears are shed. Babies are born as old people die. Betrayal happens. Friendships are formed. Some are left standing in the cold while others warm at the fire and feel content. One is endangered, another is rescued.

Duality cannot be dismissed. It smiles as we struggle to become more of one thing and less of the other. It smiles because it knows the balance is always shifting. It smiles because we cannot escape its grasp. Billions of lives are being lived simultaneously with similar dreams and aspirations. Duality dictates that some dreams be crushed as others are fulfilled. A reasonable person cries over spilt milk, but doesn’t lament what happened for very long. They rearrange the pieces and build new dreams.

I was faced with a total rebuild of my life after a tree crushed my trailer. All my possessions were exposed to slashing rain and howling winds. By the time I arrived home from work it was too late to save very much. Like most humans, I cried while wondering why it had to be me. Earlier that day I’d been watching a news broadcast about flood victims in Florida, earthquake damage in Japan, and hundreds of burnt homes in California. Earth’s disregard for our welfare has become so much a part of every-day life, I was inured until it happened to me. When it did, I finally understood the pain and suffering of existence. Up to that point I’d ignored what was happening around me.

When I went to the Red Cross shelter, I saw hundreds of victims being tended by caring volunteers. Eating watery soup on a wooden bench made me realize I’d never connected emotionally to the suffering of others. While things were going my way, I was content in my ivory tower. Wrapped in a blanket and sleeping on a concrete floor was humbling. I thought about people dining in fine restaurants across the globe while others starve to death. I thought about how one person becomes crippled at the very moment another is healed. I thought about excess. I thought about how I’d never spared a dime for my fellow man. I realized how much I don’t know about other cultures.

My insurance agent grimaced when he informed me I wasn’t covered. My boss seemed sorry that the company was letting me go for not being able to dress properly and show up on time. Everyone apologized for stepping over me and pushing me down, but their insincerity was obvious. I was now one of the downtrodden. I would have to reinvent myself and find new purchase or slide into obscurity.

Sitting against a wall at the shelter I resolved to become a better person. I became one of the healers instead of a victim. Every step I took led to a new life. Now I have a tiny office at a mental health clinic, counseling people whose worlds have been crushed by circumstance. I explain to them that when faced with adversity one cannot wallow in self-pity. That anger and the desire to blame someone are unproductive. That by reengaging in the process we can change our situation. Using my meager salary, I’ve been able to purchase a used trailer. It’s smaller than the one I had before, but is warm and cozy when winds howl and cold creeps across the land. I came to realize that things I lost were not as valuable as I thought. Unfortunately, while I am on the rise, someone else is on the decline. Before I didn’t notice. Now, I try to cushion their fall as best I can. Duality laughs at my efforts, but I feel better about myself for lending a hand.

When you stop trying to push life around you learn to relax and let it embrace you. You take down walls and stop resisting. You quit worrying about what might happen and deal with what does instead of being disappointed that things didn’t go your way. That is not to say one should take things lying down. One should always strive to achieve their goals and desires. But in that quest, one must accept defeat and sorrow as part of life’s equation. To me, no ideal eternity exists, but there are moments of absolute connectivity where achieving joy is possible. Moments when elements align to establish tranquility amid chaos. Moments alone with ourselves where we feel wonderfully whole.

The world of humans may never become friendly, and mankind may never live as one, but any individual can find peace. Peace does not depend on the state of the outer world. It dwells in the heart and can be found in the depth of our souls. Look deep, my friends, and see yourself in others. Live and let live, and learn to share the planet. Mizeta



I was standing in line at Freddy’s with two bras, three pairs of panties and six sets of nylons in my basket. It was early, so the store wasn’t busy and only one check stand was open. I was thinking about this week’s prompt from my writing group that asked me to listen to sounds around me and write about what I heard. Till that morning, all I’d heard was wind howling out of the gorge, limbs falling on my roof, and the dumpster lid clanging shut. So . . . I took a moment to patiently wait for my turn to pay—and listen.

“Oh my God,” an overweight, unshaven man in worn boots and dirty overalls exclaimed to his wife. She was wearing pajama bottoms, Scooby-Doo slippers and an ill-fitting camouflage top. Her hair was a mess. “What is the world coming to when men are dressing like women and buying lingerie in broad daylight?”

The woman in line behind them decided to answer before the man’s wife could. “In my day queers were horse whipped and jailed. These faggots have gotten uppity, and I for one would like to see them all in prison. They weren’t born with breasts so why do they need bras? I haven’t worn nylons for years. They make my legs itch.”

So . . . two different problems with their complaints resonated in my skull. The first was that I’m not gay. I lust over women incessantly despite my clothing predilections. The second was that they were ill-kempt, and I was wearing a beautiful dress, fantastic heels and had recently showered. Their body odors permeated the immediate area and were extremely off-putting.

Tuning out their bigotry-filled bonding, I focused on a phone conversation between a woman in one of the store’s electric carts and an unknown person. “You wouldn’t believe what I’m seeing,” she was saying. “Some homo is buying panties. That’s just not right. Since when did equal rights mean penises could loll about in sexy underwear? I mean like . . . how sick has the world become?”

As she thankful rolled away, I eavesdropped on another conversation. I was getting closer to check out, but still third in line. By stilling my mind and attaining absolute focus, I was able to ascertain that the conversationalists were employees who wished they didn’t have to serve the likes of me. Sure, Freddy’s guidelines required them to be polite to everyone, but mean it? Get a fucking grip.

Pretty soon I was next. Pull out the cards and be prepared for escape. Then . . . it’s my turn. Checker appropriately polite, me wishing they meant it and actually liked me. Does that make me needful?

Anyway, I heard a woman two rows over say she liked my shoes. A guy standing on the sidewalk said I was looking good. I heard a flirtatious rogue toot his horn at me as I strolled across the parking lot. Now, what I was hearing were the sounds of change. Acceptance overtaking the dissonance of hate. Kindness replacing the insensitivity of bigots in line with me at the store. I can, and always do, rise above debasement. My self-worth is deeply entrenched and cannot be denied. I exist. I can stand in line to buy whatever suits my need of the moment. I can reap reward from my labor. No person who feels they are better than me can destroy my dreams or impede my journey to fulfill them. I was born. I am here. Who are you to decide my fate or place in life? That was my unspoken retort to my detractors. We’re all stuck in line waiting for our turn. What’s in your cart matters to you and I don’t judge it. Why are you so worried about mine?

Practice kindness and tolerance and you’ll never walk alone. Mizeta      

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